Three Small Words
by stillgoldie1899
Summary: While there are words Francis Sullivan has never said to her, Goldie knows he loves her. (One-shot, fluff, Jack/OC) (And yes, she calls him Frank- Francis is, after all, his real name.)


His fingers curled in hers, squeezing hers lightly. And although they were walking in a crowd, although it was loud and she was being jostled as people pushed by them, his fingers tightening around hers was the only thing that mattered. Glancing up, her lips curled into a broad smile, and it was impossible to resist the urge to snuggle against his side, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of him. Sure, he didn't smell of roses, but he smelled of hard work, and newspaper ink, and dreams.

His dreams were crazy, and he talked big, Santa Fe, the broad sweep of sky, the sun, so big as to seem unreal. It wasn't as though he'd been there, he hadn't ever so much as left the city. But his dreams were so big, so vivid, that it was impossible not to see it yourself when he talked about them. Sometimes, when they were falling asleep, tangled up in each other's limbs in a bed that was too small for two, but the biggest that could fit in their closet of a bedroom, he would weave her stories of what their life would be, in Santa Fe. In the broad, open spaces. A ranch of their own, a few dozen head of cattle, a creek running through the back, children playing outside the kitchen window, where she could see them as she washed dishes after lunch.

It was a life very far removed from their reality. They weren't married, and she wasn't sure he'd ever ask, but they lived together, in an apartment so small you couldn't breathe deeply for fear of straining the walls. The rent and food ate up almost everything the both of them earned, and luxuries like going to Tibby's, and to shows at Irving Hall, were far beyond their means. But they took their entertainment in other things, long walks after dinner, star watching on the roof in summer, his storytelling, her singing. He'd come home one night not that long ago with a pack of playing cards, and sometimes they'd pay for the only thing either of them could casually gamble- the clothes on their backs. It was a teasing joke between them that whoever won the last hand got to call the shots that night.

It was a miracle she wasn't pregnant, at the rate they played cards, and they were both more than well aware that a child would push them from barely surviving, right into not managing to make ends meet, but they were too lost in themselves to care. She was carelessly, hopelessly in love, and he...

She knew he loved her, in his way. He couldn't say it, he wouldn't say it, he'd been hurt too many times, but she said it, to reassure him. She told him, every day, that she loved him, and his smile when she said it was all she needed. She knew he loved her.

And more than just by the way he smiled. It was the way his fingers tightened around hers, the way he held her at night, as they slept, so tight like he was afraid she wouldn't be there when he woke up. The way he kissed the top of her head, his arm around her when they were with their friends, the way he said her name. The fact that he called her by her real name when they were alone, when it was barely more than a groan, uttered in the dark, in silence broken only by the sound of skin against skin. For a guy who liked to talk, he didn't talk much when he was being intimate, just soft growling noises, and the occasional moaned name. She relished those moments, physically reacting to them in a way he'd learned to use, carefully using her name at just the right moments, for maximum effect.

And that was enough. Even if he couldn't say he loved her. She knew he did, she knew he knew her in every possible way, he'd seen into the heart of her, he knew her flaws, he knew her past, he knew where she came from and what she'd done, and he stayed with her, and that was enough. Their life together was dangerous, and unstable, and they ran the risk of everything falling apart at any second, and it probably would, but right then, right at that moment, everything was perfect.

His fingers squeezed hers again, and when he met her eyes, and saw her grin, he grinned back at her, leaning down to kiss her quickly. "C'mon, Gold. If we're lucky, we'll catch the bakery before the close for the day, and get the leftover afternoon bread half off. Sounds like dinner to me."

"Yeah, it does, Franky." She was quiet for a long moment before adding. "Hey. Franky? I love you."

"I know, Gold." His grin softened, and he kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer. She melted against him again, wanting him to fold her into his arms, and to hide there forever. And, then, she heard him. While his voice was soft, and she wasn't sure he meant for her to hear him, she did.

"Love you, too."

And that was all she ever needed to hear.


End file.
